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<title>Mites by Savnock (Silex)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600870">Mites</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/pseuds/Savnock'>Savnock (Silex)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Body Horror, Bugs &amp; Insects, Dark Fantasy, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Trypophobia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:22:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,394</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600870</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silex/pseuds/Savnock</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been years ago when he had adopted the colony, so distant that it was almost difficult to remember.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Mites</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He could feel them digging through his skin, etching another layer of emergent mysteries into his flesh. It had been years ago when he had adopted the colony, so distant that it was almost difficult to remember. Each one of the mites was no larger than an apple seed, however that meant nothing when he was host to many hundreds of the eldritch mites at a time. Every day he had to check the patches they exited his body on his arms and back, a careful search for the telltale movements that meant they would begin etching again. The check also helped him keep count of the rare flight-capable males before they became a problem.</p><p>Living as a host was troubling at times. Still he had outlived most of his peers, while they succumbed to sickness and death he had traveled the southern kingdoms. While his wretched family sought to purge the old magics from the world he browsed the seraglios and secrets of a hundred lands. It all came back to the mites. In return for host and home they granted protection from the rigors of age and the threat of illness, they even staved of stagnation of the mind with the strange fugues of unnatural passions they caused. The etching were yet another gift, in return for a dull pain his body was writ with secrets of the old magics and of cosmic secrets that held such import they could drive lesser beings mad. The feeling of the etching was what had woken him. His body healed unnaturally fast due to his Arkaran blood so they only lasted a couple days at most, however that meant that the knowledge was only attainable for a short time.</p><p>A visit to Velska was in order. He opened the chest under his cot and removed a comb and mirror. It was days like this he longed to avoid, dealing with the scholar was never pleasant. Hands moved rhythmically separating and smoothing his waves of pale hair about his ashen visage. A few quick movements bound the tail of hair behind him and selected a pair of matching needle-tipped rings from the chest. It was a pity he had to rely on the scholar, in the past he had learned the tongue of the old gods. Sadly he had paid the price with blank periods in his memory and the unwilling adoption of a degenerative nervous condition that his Arkaran blood had little power against. In the ages past he had used his many lifetimes to steal the secrets of the gods from his skin and rule kingdoms that were now little more than sand. It was humbling to think that his triumphs were gone and was likely the reason for his melancholy since visiting the ruins in the wastes.</p><p>A few short clipped movements had him all but dressed and gazing out the window into the press of bodies clogging the streets below. The hand resting on the sill moved erratically tapping to the beat of song forgotten before the city was founded. Looking into the streets one could not even see the stained red cobbles through the swell of gray clad pilgrims and struggling red-sashed merchants. It would make traveling unnoticed simple, it was hard to pick out ashen skin under gray robes and charcoal rubbed head scarves, not to mention he would be just another faceless pilgrim lost in his devotion to the child priests of the blind god.</p><p>He descended the rear stair and slid through the alley on silent feet. A young pilgrim was drawing a crowd showing off the ink lip-print of a child priest on his breast. Idiot. A quick movement snatched one of the inattentive onlookers and deft hands silenced screams.</p><p>The gray robes itched.</p><p>Among the masses it was suffocating. A fog of summer sweat and bitter smoke dimmed the air above the mass of bodies. Pickpockets gave the streets wide berth, hiding in alcoves and alleys to join jocks and bravos in assault of the unwary. Cheap spices mingled with unwashed bodies, slave girls in tanned smocks walked along the rooftop paths behind hash clouded nobles. Traveling the press was infuriating as it was boring. It took till midday to reach the binders district, and longer to reach the alley he wanted. Picking his way between refuse and leaf addicts he reached the ramshackle mess of crude splinter ridden timber that served as Velska’s door.</p><p>Careful not to snag his new, itchy, robe on the sad excuse for a door he slid inside the rogue scholar’s home. It never failed to surprise him that someone learned enough to read the old tongue and decipher the stars could be so slovenly. Half eaten food and soiled clothing competed for space alongside soot-stained alembics and dog-eared manuscripts. Even the light seemed filthy, cast by guttering alchemic lights poorly imitated from a design a thousand years old. Worst were the ever-present homunculi, drifting like ugly balloons trailing random assortments of needlessly pointy limbs. The creatures seemed to exist solely to further the mess by rifling through the scattered debris in search of discarded pages and priceless scrolls with which to construct meaningless nests that clogged the ceiling. God it would be therapeutic to tip over the sole oil lamp and watch the building burn.</p><p>“Gods above Velska, where are you?”</p><p>A pile of rags near the south wall shuddered and a pale pockmarked face shook free.</p><p>“Give me a moment, I’m still a bit high.”</p><p>Slowly a spidery ink-stained hand emerged and fussed with the rags until a human form could almost be made out from beneath them. Her bloodshot hollow eyes roved the room in a long somnolent arc, blinking away pink-stained tears and wincing at the dingy light. Finally the hand threw back the rags and began roving through hair the color of soiled linen before scratching at bloodstained teeth.</p><p>“Do you intend to make me wait till the secrets are lost? I don’t age but I doubt you will be in any better state if you read one of the etching in full”</p><p>“Fine, fine, take off that idiotic robe and whatever absurdity is beneath it so I can read your back”</p><p>“Silk is not absurd. I got the robe from a pilgrim, you know I don’t like advertising my heritage.”</p><p>“Doesn’t make it any better than mine, sackcloth is comfy.”</p><p>God he hated Velska. Why in the name of the elder gods had he ever given her the secret of longevity? Madness induced amnesia could be infuriating at times. Carefully moving between refuse and waving away idiot homunculi he made his way to the solid stool of grey teak. Soon the robe and his silk shirt were folded in his lap and Velska was tunelessly humming as she copied down the half-finished etching on his back. To distract himself he checked for males and found one on the right wrist. It was a big one, glossy jade in color with iridescent red wings. His slim fingers gently coaxed it into the air and he spent a few moments smiling as it explored the nests about the ceiling. It would have to be dealt with soon, males without a host could grow larger than a hound and would eat twice their weight in flesh each day. He began to whistle and the male spiraled down to eye level. It disappeared as he flicked his head forward and swallowed it whole. Velska made a gagging sound behind him which quickly turned into a fit of idiot giggles. Fucking addict.</p><p>“Are you done? I want to be gone before the next hit of oil sends you over the edge.”</p><p>She sidled around displacing a mountain of half-finished thesis and the homunculus which was apparently inside it. “I am finished but you won’t like it.”</p><p>“What? Another secret about immortality or the veil above the stars? Doubtless it could not concern anything worse than the etching that told me my kingdom would fall.”</p><p>Velska gave a sickly grin and pulled a dropper of yellow drug-oil from her rags, two drops in each eye and one in her mouth.</p><p>“It says the world is going to end”</p><p>“Really? Nothing surprising about that.”</p><p>“It says your apotheosis is what will cause it.”</p><p>Maybe he didn’t hate Velska so much after all.</p>
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